Show Time

BEYOND AND BACK: WAR STORIES AT THE ROXY

Roxy Theatre, Los Angeles, USA - 7th October 2018

By Matt Powell - Photos by Dianne Carter
This is no place
To be addicted
To another pace

Only the occasional green-haired weirdo or leather dominatrix crawls along the Sunset Strip and into the Roxy Theatre this night, their scant numbers a faint reminder of a time when the streets of Hollywood were flooded with freaks peacocking their membership in a special, sacred order.
A glorious sunset sprawls across the October sky, orange and pink and baby blue, so clean and bright. Like the emerging poshness of the new Sunset Strip itself, it is almost too pretty for tonight.
Such is the modern world.
And in some ways the modern world hovered over the event held within the Roxy’s black walls Sunday evening. War Stories is just as described: "Tales of ‘70s and ‘80s punk mayhem told by the perpetrators themselves." Seated across the Roxy stage where so much sweat and blood and beer was spilled, eight seminal musicians and documentarians sat on folding chairs (the audience did as well — folding chairs in the Roxy!) and shared tales of the vibrancy and debauchery of Los Angeles’ brief but bright punk days.
This was the second War Stories evening, following a February appearance at El Cid featuring a slightly different lineup. The ringleaders are Pleasant Gehman and Theresa Kereakes, who co-founded the punk fanzine Lobotomy in 1978 combining Kereakes’ photography, Gehman’s high school typing class skills, and a shared limitless lust for punk life.   
Sunday’s Roxy show featured Gehman, Kereakes, Abby Travis (THE GO-GO'S, THE LOVEDOLLS, KFMDM) Chip Kinman (THE DILS, RANK AND FILE), Dave Catching (THE MODIFIERS, TEX & THE HORSEHEADS, EAGLES OF DEATH METAL), Jennifer Finch (L7), Mike Watt (MINUTEMEN), and Flea. 
It was an event steeped in nostalgia and remembrance of a movement born from a rejection of traditional norms. Yet there was a pervading reminder that this could simply never happen again.
As with all scenes (musical, artistic or otherwise) you had to be there. War Stories was designed to celebrate a vibrant and now-dead scene that took place in a particular window of time in a particular place among a nebulous but ultimately limited group of participants.
In a tradition as old as recorded history, one purpose of such remembrances is the passing on of what once was for those who weren’t there, in the hopes that some part of the way the people on this stage and their cohorts lived their lives and made their art can seep a little into the consciousness of younger generations.
The crowd, mostly, seemed to have been there, peppered with a few of the young and hip and curious: those who can never know the feeling of sneaking into a club with a bad ID, or no ID (barcode technology makes that impossible now. Travis observed how the crackdown on underage club-going in Los Angeles really began in earnest with the arrival of the 1984 Olympics, a seminal moment that split Los Angeles into the clearly defined pre and post), or of wandering rows of cars in Hollywood parking lots looking for an unlocked Cadillac in which to fornicate, fog the windows for a few minutes, and be gone before the owner, none the wiser, returned (everything is locked today and cameras capture all). There were stories of crash pads like Gehman’s infamous Disgraceland left unlocked for days or weeks on end, or landlords removing apartment doors altogether in a futile attempt to get Flea and his deadbeat degenerate cohorts to vacate.
Before technology and ubiquitous surveillance, one could get away with all manner of crazy shit.
Kereakes, who self-identified as "punk rock’s designated driver," pulled these seemingly hedonistic remembrances together into a poignant observation: her and her merry band were virtually, if not literally, unemployable. While many see punk as a movement of destruction, in Los Angeles’ first wave at least, it was an artistic movement of creation and, perhaps unintentionally to some, of entrepreneurship.
"We had to rely on word-of-mouth, calling people on the phone, talking to them at social gatherings and making the commitment to be somewhere at a given time and place," says Kereakes. "Once you left the house, you expected someone to show up. Your only recourse was to find a payphone. We were analog and happily so. We were entrepreneurs and didn't realize it. We invented a new way of doing business."

Who were these punks? Some were freaks and wannabes and hangers on, for sure. There were drunks and junkies and dropouts and dealers. There were musicians foremost. And there were scribes and photographers, or fans and scenesters who were addicted to the energy and had access to a Xerox machine. It didn’t matter; collectively they built an infrastructure faced with the dual rejection of and rejection by mainstream society. They built their own magazines, record labels, bands, and even venues (Many punk clubs began as Chinese restaurants. Chip Kinman recalled an early DILS gig at a pizza parlor in Garden Grove). "If you’re in a band you’re an entrepreneur whether you like it or not," Kereakes observed.
It was a time of total freedom and lack of judgement, of unfettered creativity born from the cultural desert of 1970s Los Angeles. Bands as seemingly disparate as THE GERMS, THE BLASTERS and BLACK FLAG shared bills and, eventually, fans. There was diversity of style, of presentation, and of influence. "I think that without being the ‘politically correct police’ we were a much more accepting group," says Kereakes. "We were misfits and outcasts to begin with and that was our bond. We appreciated other weirdos and their output, their lifestyle, their fashion. Although, if someone was displaying bonafide unacceptable behavior, we would most definitely call them out."
Flea, the baby of the group (along with Finch), recalled his initial disinterest in the punk scene that was flowering in Hollywood. Flea explained that, although he was a troubled kid with a drug problem, musically he was into jazz and classical at the time, and punk seemed to him like "another thing with an arbitrary set of rules." But then he saw a FEAR show while on acid, and shortly thereafter auditioned for the band when it was announced they had fired bassist Derf Scratch. Flea got the FEAR gig and his friends, including many sharing the stage this night, celebrated with an 18-day party because one of their own had actually joined a "real band."
As with Angeleno R and B, blues, jazz and, to a certain extent, country music, Los Angeles’ indigenous punk music has always been given short shrift by unapologetically ignorant eastern critics. (This phenomenon continues into the present day with regular, unintentionally hilarious articles from New York based writers failing, or even trying, to grasp Angeleno culture.) London claimed punk’s origins and New York claimed the higher artistic ground. What did a bunch of pretty kids in the land of sunshine railing against their perceived petty problems have to say?
But to dismiss Los Angeles punk is to miss the point of Los Angeles altogether, ground zero of the detective novel and film noir — a bright and guilty place where dark things happen in harsh light. Gehman has written about the two Hollywoods that existed at the time, one of the Tinsel Town Dream Factory, and the other of her Hollywood Boulevard: "a seedy carnival midway... its pink-and-black granite "Walk of Fame" was dull and littered with beer cans, used condoms, and fast-food wrappers and dotted with spit and chewing gum."
There is a kind of surrealism in the juxtaposition of these outcasts carving their way in a company town where Old Hollywood was ageing but still very much alive. Gehman recalled smoking a joint with Tony Curtis. Catching, who briefly held a legitimate vocation as a pizza delivery driver, recalled delivering pizzas to stars like Anthony Perkins.
The very unique nature of Los Angeles, and Hollywood specifically, helped shape and fuel the theatrics and debauchery and tone of the scene. "The intersection of Old Hollywood, film noir, bright sunshine and punk rock is what gave L.A. punk and new wave its distinctive personality," says Kereakes, "just as every town imprints itself on its art."
So what if L.A.’s punk scene was born from relatively harmless kids making noise from no deeper motivation than their own boredom and an urge to party until the days change at night, change in an instant. Surely there is no more noble a deed than creating something from nothing. Locked out of the stale Hollywood establishment, these latchkey kids chose to build their own empire out of nothing more than their energy, some safety pins, and rudimentary typesetting skills as a testament to the great Angeleno tradition of invention and reinvention.
Sunshine be damned.
The prevailing theme of the night, reinforced from all who spoke, was the sense of true community. The community was healthier, more vibrant and robust in a time before social media. Camping out for concert tickets was social media. The level of superficial connectivity in the 21st century has killed the ability of true local scenes to develop.
"You had to be engaged in real life, not virtual life, on an interpersonal level, face to face," says Kereakes. "Scenes could grow and develop in their own world on their own timeline, organically."
Another theme that emerged is that the participants, despite the blur of endless parties and mayhem, knew at the time that they were a part of something special. Even as it was unfolding, musicians and scenesters alike were cognizant of which bands were "first wave," (Flea mentioned the SCREAMERS, an early L.A. punk band who never made an official recording, calling them "the Buddy Bolden of punk rock," a reference to the pioneering New Orleans jazz cornetist whose music was never captured on wax) versus "second wave," (quintessential L.A. punk band, X) and the skeptical "new wave" (Mike Watt recalled an existential crisis on a pivotal night when he was forced to choose between X opening for DEVO in Long Beach or the GERMS at the Masque. He chose the GERMS).  

Despite the name of the event, and the accessory baggage that comes with the term "punk," the war stories this evening weren't especially deranged. Some petty crime, sure. Lots of booze and drugs and public sex. But these hi-jinx seem almost quaint from today’s vantage.
The evening was nostalgic, but it was funny, charming and in some ways inspiring. Perspective is a funny thing. Looking back at a wild burst of energy and art, of the perfect people in the perfect place at the perfect time, one is faced with both the thought that it can never be duplicated and the thought that it should never be. It is up to the artists of today to make their own way. The eight people on the Roxy stage this night proved you can build anything you want, so long as there is a will. Skills are helpful but not required. Don’t ask for permission. Don’t give anyone the opportunity to stand in your way. Just roll right through the noise and do your thing, and do it righteously. 
War Stories will continue, incorporating themed nights (the all-women "L.A. Woman" panel is in the works now) and the show plans to hit the road, featuring a regular lineup augmented by local punks wherever the stories may take them. While War Stories focus on the L.A. scene, punk was a universal explosion.
"Scenes developed a personality and identity that gave all the bands strength and power once one of them broke through," says Kereakes. "It gave long-time local fans of these bands ownership and a sense of family and community pride."

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OFF! - CHAINSAW HOOKERS - PROJECT MAYHEM - Amplifier Bar, Perth, Australia - 3rd December 2011

I'd never been to Amplifier Bar before, but heard plenty of shitty things about it from other people. It seemed like a completely average venue-cum-club to me. Apparently it turns into a townie disco at the stroke of midnight, curtailing any gigs that inexplicably want to run on later than that. Personally, if the bands around here actually shared backlines (like a community) then changeovers would be 5-10 minutes instead of 25 minutes, and a four-band show could be done in under three hours instead of dragging on all bloody night. But I digress.. The stage was a sensible height, with no barrier (something a lot of these places seem to love sticking up) and kinda diagonal in a corner. Overall, the setting seemed good for a band like OFF! to get people moving.

OFF! came on shortly after we got there - having intentionally sat out the first two (rubbish, local) bands in the pub around the corner - but considering the pedigree of the main band, the venue seemed barely half-full - we were able to stand front and center without any problems. Keith Morris fitted the cliché of "seeming shorter in person", and compared to the majority of spare-tired early-Eighties hardcore dudes I've seen still playing in recent years, he looked in pretty great shape for a geezer of fifty-five.

From the live sound on two of their three "videos", and the 'Live At Generation Records' 7" I knew they'd be good, but as soon as they crashed into 'Black Thoughts' everyone went nuts. I can't remember the last time I saw/dodged quite so many stage-divers. The band barely stopped, aside from a brief explanation behind the eulogising song 'Jeffery Lee Peirce', (who was the singer of THE GUN CLUB, and one of Keith's closest friends), The set was something like 16 songs long, which simultaneously seemed to last forever while it was happening, and then seemed to end horribly quickly. The band were tight and energetic, and despite the vocals being a bit low, sounded altogether incredible. After the last notes rang out, the sweaty masses began demanding "ONE MORE SONG! ONE MORE SONG!" (I wanted at least a dozen!), before the band re-appeared. Keith explained that when BLACK FLAG were starting out and they didn't have enough songs for a full-set, they'd do what they were about to do tonight, and start over. So then we got the first two songs over again ('Black Thoughts' and 'Darkness'), I was half hoping they would do the entire lot - but even that pair made the room go mad. All in all, it was an awesome show and clearly they're a band doing it for the love of it, not to make a quick buck. (Their shirts and merch were cheaper than the local bands'.)
Alex Leech (Jerk Store zine)

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SUBHUMANS - THE DEAD BATTERIES - THE FANNY PADS - TOE, Royal Oak, Ipswich, UK 30th August 2009
When I was at high school there were three bands that mattered: CRASS, who changed everything; DISCHARGE, who sounded the best loud; and SUBHUMANS, who were a more approachable Anarcho band, not as scary or clandestine as the crew from Dial House. I never saw CRASS live, due mainly to the fact that I’m too young, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I never will. A couple of years ago a few of us travelled to see DISCHARGE, who were massively, though predictably disappointing. When rumours started circulating that SUBHUMANS, who I’d never seen, were playing at the Royal Oak, my local pub on and off since I was 15, the received wisdom among most people I know was to take these rumours with a pinch of salt. As the date fast approached, however, it looked more and more likely that this might actually happen. Approaching the pub on the night and being greeted by a murder of punks smoking in fitful anticipation outside the front door, confirmed that there was substance to the stories after all.
First up were TOE, an Ipswich three-piece drawn from the more avant end of the DIY scene. Between them they make quite a retro din, something akin to SCRATCH ACID or RAPEMAN with vocals manipulated electronically into something akin to what you might hear on a WHITEHOUSE album. Cool stuff, I thought, and I’m looking forward to catching them again. The FANNY PADS were up next but suffered badly with sound, their guitarist turning up way louder than everything else could compensate for. We made for outside to grab a breath of fresh air. The PADS were followed by The DEAD BATTERIES, who were largely responsible for organising the night. I’d seen this lot before, a year or two ago, and they’ve improved a lot, getting tighter and faster, and clearly having a blast when the audience responded.

After a short set-up the SUBHUMANS came on and immediately the Oak erupted into a flailing mass of people. And, out of nowhere, came the old-schoolers, people I hadn’t seen for years, singing all the words and taking their place in the pit. The set was largely drawn from 'The Day The Country Died', 'World’s Apart' and 'EP-LP', with a couple of new songs and the odd 'From The Cradle To The Grave' track making an appearance. And they were brilliant! By the time ‘Mickey Mouse Is Dead’ made an appearance I was in the pit, too, arm round my brother, singing my little heart out. ‘Religious Wars’ ended the night in fine style, another classic that I couldn’t resist getting stuck in for. And that was it, all over, an amazing night where the Oak really came alive. Afterwards I’d lost my voice, which was a bonus for most of the people who know me. Now, if we could just get CRASS down there . . .
Roki

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REBELLION FESTIVAL, Blackpool UK, 6th-9th August 2009

Every year you hear the same thing – “It’s like one of those old teddy boy conventions”. Really? Did the teddy boys have 40 or 50 new bands (many of them good) at a festival to choose from? Or maybe the whingers and moaners themselves are the jaded old cunts. One of the worst days in my life was the day of Xmas On Earth in 1981 – an all dayer (a new concept back then) in Leeds that I’d saved up for for months. I didn’t even get three miles before the bus got stuck in a snowdrift. Imagine if I knew then that one day there’d be four whole days of Punk Rock with bands from all over the world on three or four stages! I can understand those on the dole or a low wage giving it a miss – the various costs soon mount up – but many of the biggest critics have good jobs, and will be sitting in their rocking chairs in 20 years time saying “I wished I….”
THURSDAY
A four hour bus journey later it was check in at the B&B and straight off to the venue where GEOFFREY OICOTT were setting up in The Arena. You probably know the script by now – Yorkshire Oi band who sing about cricket, with plenty of double entendres thrown in – for example 'Bouncers', a reference to awkward bowling practice or a dig at our friends in security? Then there’s 'LBW' which, turns out, is short for 'Lager Before Women' (I got a LBW bottle opener when they played the toon, Dawn wasn’t impressed!) Musically they are basic (but powerful) Oi with CONDEMNED 84 style vocals (no comparisons politically though!) and they put on a good show, playing most of the songs from 'The Good The Bad And The Googly' LP and also a couple off the new 7”, 'I Was Monty’s Double' (including the PARTISANS cover, now christened '17 Pints of Ale'!).
It was all change this year as the main bar became the home of acoustic acts which made for difficult conversations over a pint (which incidently was £2.80 or £3 depending on if you got the dodgy barman. Good pint of snakey as long as you avoided the gig rooms cos they had fucking Strongbow Extra Cold, which is just plain wrong.). Meanwhile the Pavillion was turned over to an art show for most of the time which didn’t amuse the stallholders as it meant less prospective punters passing through.
The rest of the night was spent mainly socialising, although we did catch the CUTE LEPERS in The Empress (2500 capacity yet somehow with a decent sound). Almost didn’t recognise them as Steve E Nix’s blond barnet is now a more conservative colour (did you see that? I used the word ‘conservative’ without also using the word ‘cunt’!). Anyway just about all their album on display plus one of their best songs 'Young Hearts' from the new split 7” with the DISCO LEPERS - basically THE BRIEFS with a bit 60’s melody thrown in. Dawn says the bird from THE NIPPLE ERECTORS made a guest appearance for one song, yet I was watching and didn’t even know (some reviewer!).
The hectic proceedings meant an early night for us (this became a bit of a theme, especially when toothache set in; sleep not helped by soft pillows, knobheads shouting in the streets till 5am and the loudest seagulls I’ve ever heard)
FRIDAY
Must go down in history as the most badly managed attempt at a review in history, for today we saw a whole TWO bands fully!! Socialising, drinking, afternoon kip, anything but what a reviewer shoulda been doing. I returned from my slumber to catch the PORK DUKES at 6.20pm. The Olympia now has two stages. The main stage from previous years (a complete waste of both the bands’ and the punters’ time), and another one at the side which sounds good if you’re in front of it. Luckily PORK DUKES were on the side stage. Not pretty, but a tight, powerful performance that had far more oomph than the original records. Songs from the heyday ('Telephone Masturbator', 'Big Tits' etc) to the 2nd LP ('…Gun For Xmas') to the comeback stuff. Some cracking tunes over the years and music that is made for drinking. The sight of two fat, bald 50-yr-olds enjoying themselves will probably piss off the PC hypocrites even more (sexism = bad ; sizeism/ageism = perfectly acceptable).
It was good to see Bison back in the fold, manning the stall in the Olympia, selling zines like hotcakes and saving me ending up with arms like Lurch from the Addams Family. This is another good thing about Rebellion – there is always a huge selection of stalls, most of which have an ever changing selection of goodies throughout the weekend.
Dawn joined me for the new line up of DEMOB who played much the same set as the last time I seen em a few years ago. 'Teenage Adolescence', 'Anti Police' and 'Think Fast' still sounded mighty fine and 'No Room For You' of course brought the house down with no shortage of volunteers on backing vocals.
Off we went to see ARGY BARGY who these days play with the confidence of a band whose last album put them in the big league (I stole that description from Nigel from Derby, but nothing else sums em up better). They properly went for it… unfortunately the sound was fucking appalling. A swimming bath has better acoustics than the Olympia.
So pub, and another early night.
SATURDAY
By far the best line up, and what better start than LOS FASTIDIOS (pictured <) in the Empress. Good sound, lively performance, and all their best stuff including the ones about football, the Housemartins tribute, and a couple of more from their excellent new CD. Singalong Italian Oi/Ska/Punk (some of it in English) and making no bones where they stand politically (anti-fascist/vivisection/homophobia). 'Stay Rude Stay Rebel' seemed to have half the 500+ crowd skanking which ain’t bad for 2PM in the afternoon. Had to choose chilling time wisely today so off back to the B&B and back to venue for NEWTOWN NEUROTICS (which meant two of Dawn’s all-time faves within two hours, I really can’t understand the moaners). A new line up but virtually the same set – plenty of 'Beggars' LP ('The Mess' , 'Agony' etc), most of the singles including 'Kick Out The Tories' (which probably isn’t quite out of date yet unfortunately) and thankfully very little from the lacklustre 'Bolsheviks' LP. Had a quick chat with Mr Drewett who was chilling with his family in the bar later and I think he said Colin can’t gig anymore for health reasons (bad back or something).
Took Dawn to a fancy restaurant (Harry Ramsdens) then I went back to see THE FREEZE. Clif Hanger must be pushing 50 but still jumped around like a lunatic. From the back the tunes were hard to make out, and they didn’t seem to be doing owt from their best CD ('Freak Show'), preferring instead to cater for the HC clientele, so I buggered off to see MAJOR ACCIDENT. Last time I saw em at Morecambe, they were great. Tonight they were lumbered with the Olympia stage and it was, quite honestly, painful to watch a good band destroyed by the acoustics of the Grand Canyon. 'Respectable' – never their finest moment – sounded especially out of tune (even though it probably wasn’t!) and I reluctantly departed for Scruffy Murphys (one of the few boozers with a decent pint, as long as ya stick to snakey).
Dawn left for the B&B but the AMEBIX slot had been given to LAST RESORT, which is like swapping a lifeboat for a tea bag, but who am I to complain? The last time I saw LAST RESORT was five years ago in Morecambe around about the time their comeback CD 'Resurrection' was released - pretty forgettable heavy Oi that seemed to be trying to be USHC like MADBALL (even the old songs/4-SKINS covers sounded metally that night). But what a difference five years makes. The new CD really is worthy of the subtitle 'Skinhead Anthems 2'. So we got the best songs off that ('Beyond The Promised Land', 'War Widow', 'Cockleshell Heroes' etc) mixed with the early classics, with a leaner meaner Roi Pearce leading the charge like a fully tattooed psychotic extra from Lock Stock. This was proper drinking music and 2000 strong crowd loved it.
SUNDAY
Having as much sleep as a Guantanamo detainee is not the best way to start the final day, but thankfully GIMP FIST (pictured <) can liven anyone up. Most of the classics from the first two CDs plus songs from their next album (to be recorded in November) like 'Heart & Soul' and 'Skinhead Not Bonehead' were played to a very respectable (for 1pm) crowd of about 700. Michael (drummer) drew the short straw and was absolutely besieged on the merch table afterwards. Two years ago I despaired at seeing a band so great play to 15 people in the Fish Tank (Durham) but now they are finally getting the recognition they deserve. If you want tunes that stay in your head, sussed lyrics and choruses bigger than a mighty elephant, look no further. A couple of jars with John from Wigan then off to see LAST ROUGH CAUSE who were Pop-Punk long before it meant out of tune American accents and rock school guitars. LRC’s now very sought after 7” was a cracking EP and the tracks accompanying it on 'Skins & Punks' split LP weren’t bad either, so I was really looking forward to seeing em. Sure enough the Olympia did not disappoint - or rather it did. You could put mattresses all over the walls of this place and it would still sound shit, and the turnout here was nothing short of disgraceful (about 40 people). Still good to hear 'Violent Few' etc again and lets hope they keep it going and play the toon sometime. Bumped em in the street later and they’re really good blokes; the drummer remembered me from years ago. It involved his record collection. Time to scarper! I had almost forgotten but, whilst waiting for LRC, we took in a band from Herts, CHARRED HEARTS, who gave a powerful, confident performance. I have no idea if this is a new band or an obscure KBD act who’ve just reformed but despite being my age or more (except the drummer who I think is the singer’s son, though you wouldn’t be able to tell as he clattered them like a pro) they were obviously here to entertain, the singer jumping over the barrier and handing the mic to a rather bored/confused looking YTS security type! Musically if you imagine old KBD bands like BLEACH BOYS with modern day heavy production. Had to square up with Tony (top man!) from the stalls which meant I missed most of KUNT & THE GANG but he went down a storm anyway. If you’ve seen him you’ll know exactly what to expect – depraved lyrics set to innocent sounding 80’s chart music. His videos are legendary (you MUST check out his My Space site). Songs include 'Fred and Rose' (“I’d murder a lodger for you”), 'Men With Beards' (“…what are they hiding, have they buried a body next to a railway siding”) and the very topical 'Michael Jackson Tribute' (“he was born black, he died white, and in the middle he fiddled with kids”) – the latter caused absolute riots on You Tube because genuine fans of the Paedo of Pop have been searching for their hero only to find THAT!! THE STUPIDS sounded the same as ever – powerful early 80s US influenced HC (but not nearly tuneful enough to hold yer attention for long) lost in the Olympia wall of echo. THE THREATS were thankfully playing the side stage at the Olympia. Like the PORK DUKES, they’re not pretty but they’re another kick in the teeth for the jaded absentees who moan that it’s all washed up heroes of yesteryear playing sluggish versions of their old stuff. Since coming back a decade ago or so, they have knocked out two powerful albums and are more powerful today than ever. Tracks from '12 Punk Moves' and 'God Is Not With Us Today' were mixed with the old classics like 'Writing On The Wall', 'Politicians And Ministers' and '1980s' and they played like a band out to make their very first impression on the world. A quick hiatus back at the B&B then I think it was back to a rescheduled CRAVATS. I loved 'Precinct' when I was a young un – in them days entertainment was walking round with a tape recorder usually blasting offensive tunes – so, as the song wasn’t peppered with expletives it musta been good – though I remember being disappointed by their LP ('XMP' excepted). I couldn’t, however, remember their most famous moment – 'Rub Me Out' (Crass Recs). No wonder. This is the song they kicked off with – an intolerable, arty jazz number. No tune or direction, it’s only purpose to irritate, although the band deserve kudos for suffering for their art, the sax player wearing an old East German army coat (that probably hadn’t seen the light of day since 1980) in the excruciating heat. That’s about as much as I could bear so it was off to my natural habitat, the bar. By now depression was setting in. The bar was half empty, and I ended up in a debate about USHC with Hebby (t-shirt magnate) and Shaun from VOORHEES. I still ended up none the wiser as to what constitutes good HC or bad HC (to me “It’s all a noise Alan”) and I thought I’d better check out KILLING JOKE in the Empress. Most of the remaining punters obviously had the same idea. I only ever liked about three songs by em ('Wardance', 'Psyche', and 'Complications') but I’d heard they were some act live. Well stood at the back, it just seemed like a wall of echo with a deranged Michael Jackson lookalike walking back and forwards shouting “Change!”. That will probably knark diehards like ebay Lee, but unless a band has lots of good tunes that is probably as far as I delve at this stage of proceedings, so back to the bar and they’re still on about bands who go “shout shout shout”… and we’re just about the only ones left in there. Doom, gloom. I had promised to help load out for John (Overground) after the gig, but being the only person left in the stalls area I was no doubt suspected of being a wrong un and ushered out of the building, leaving a less than amused John when the gig finished. Mondays in Blackpool are always suitably bleak. It pisses down, you’re kicked out of the B&B at 10am and the bus doesn’t come till 3pm. But we will be back next year with a vengeance (and hopefully not toothache). It remains the greatest holiday on earth. Next year tips – scrap the big stage in the Olympia (keep the small one), and turn it over to the art show, and possibly a Punk Rock market/car boot sale where ordinary Punkers can pay a small amount for a small stall for a day to sell their cast offs, records, CDs etc. Use the Pavillion for bands instead.

Trev Howarth (Myspace)

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FLIPPER - MOUNTAINEATER
San Francisco Bath House, Wellington, New Zealand, 18th June 2009
While waiting for the first band to start playing, I was talking to a long-time FLIPPER fan who expressed surprise that the audience being made up of many in their twenties and possibly younger rather than the over thirties. I'm not sure what I make of that myself. It's been quite some time since the days when Kurt Cobain donned a FLIPPER T-shirt. Perhaps FLIPPER is a prime example of a band gaining a live audience miles from their home country due to the mp3 buying/downloading crowd.
First up were Dunedin trio MOUNTAINEATER who made me ponder what early GORDONS shows were like. MOUNTAINEATER had a HUGE wall of noise bringing the previously mentioned band and SPACEMEN 3 to mind. The sparsely used vocals were not unlike THE CURE's Robert Smith in his prime. They played about six songs.
FLIPPER came out and Bruce Loose started talking about his band not being serious rock unlike the previous group and finding himself trapped in a cage again. Ted Falconi stood pretty much in the same place all night while strumming his guitar. The bass player and frontman moved around a lot but it's like contrasting ADD kid on speed and caffiene with a turtle. Bruce had to check his bass player's glossary (set list) a few times. Into the band's second song he states, "Fuck all those heavy stoner bands (a reference to support band Mountaineater's sound perhaps?). Acid Punk is where it's at. We're the original Acid Punk band." Songs like personal favourite ‘Life’ are played as are newer less engaging tracks. It's difficult to tell if Bruce is genuinely annoyed at the kid knocking the monitor orwhether it's part of the band's confrontational approach. I find myself thinking about live footage of THE BIRTHDAY PARTY I saw a good many years back as there's a similar dramatic aspect. Bruce claims to have lost his voice and asks for a couple of audience members to sing ‘Sex Bomb Baby’ as he straps on a bass. Two young guys are happy to oblige. No encore is played.
Chris (Small Takeover)